Hell Without You
by Mali Bear's Buddy
Summary: With his brother in the pit, Sam turns to the only person he thinks will understand his pain - Jo Harvelle. Each needing comfort they form a unique relationship. When Dean comes back, who will Jo choose? S3 AU Double love triangle Dean/Jo/Sam/Ruby.
1. Abandoned

**A/N:** If you happen to be finding this story for the first time, welcome to my mixed up adventure! If it seems familiar, it probably is - right down to the title...although I have cleaned up some things I missed the first go-round.

You see, I have a confession to make: The first three chapters were originally posted under an alternate account because I was worried it might offend some of my readers. After much thought, I've decided to move it into my main account for a number of reasons - the biggest being I'm proud of this story and I regret hiding it.

We're all adults, right? (Well, if you're reading M rated stories, you should be!) We occasionally make mistakes and, when we're extremely lucky, the people who love us call us on our bullshit - whether or not they realize it - and demand we be true to ourselves. Many, many thanks to my friends Michi and Corinne for sparking my imagination and encouraging this little plot bunny. They're both beautiful souls and I am incredibly blessed to have them in my life...

**Warning:** This one is going to be racier than I normally post and will, at times, be sexually explicit bordering on PWP (I blame **PerinciousBlood**). If you are bothered by more graphic adult content, you may want to turn back now and skip this one.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Part I: Left Behind

Chapter 1: Abandoned

_New Harmony, IN_

_Saturday May 2, 2008, 1:43 AM_

As if Sam Winchester needed another reason to hate his birthday, Dean's death only further compounded his feelings. Losing his big brother - the man who had raised and taken care of him in the place of their often absent father - was earth-shattering, though expected. If he hadn't loved Dean so much, he'd have murdered him with his bare hands for making a deal with a crossroads demon. A deal that sent him deep into the bowels of Hell.

_Sam hits his knees next to Dean's limp body. Though he knows in his heart his brother is gone, he still feels for a pulse. Still looks down into lifeless green eyes that once sparkled with light and laughter despite everything they'd seen._

_Hauling Dean into his arms, Sam cradles him against his shoulder. Pain slices through him, sharp as the hellhound's talons that had torn at Dean's body. Tears trickling over his cheeks, he vows, "I'll fix this, Dean. I swear I'll find a way to get you back."_

_Bobby enters the room, the sight damn near breaking his heart. With every ounce of courage he can muster, he pushes his hat back and clears his throat. "Uh, Sam, I know this is tough, but we gotta get Dean outta here. Salt n' burn 'im before somethin' decides to wear 'im as a meat suit."_

"_No," Sam answers forcefully. Laying Dean's body back on the floor, he closes his brother's eyes so as not to lose determination gazing at the vacant stare. He wipes his eyes and stands up. "We're not burning him."_

"_Come again?" Bobby asks sternly. "Are you outta your mind, son? He's a hunter. He should have a hunter's funeral."_

_Sam's jaw is fixed tightly. He balls his fists to keep from pummeling the old man in front of him. "He'll need a body when he comes back."_

"_Comes back? What the hell are you plannin' to do, Sam?" Bobby asks, his brow furrowing._

"_I'll find a way, Bobby," Sam utters as he heads down the hallway to the stairs. He needs sheets. Something to wrap him in. Dean would never forgive him if he got blood on the Impala's seats._

_Bobby is hot on his heels. He follows him into the master bedroom and watches as Sam strips the bed, taking the linens with him as he makes his way back downstairs. He yells at the boy, "Dammit, Sam! This isn't what Dean woulda wanted."_

_Stubbornly, Sam throws the sheets on the floor and squares off with Bobby. "What about me, huh? What about what I want?" he asks, his voice straining under the weight of the emotion roiling inside him. "I didn't ask for this, Bobby. I didn't ask him to take my place."_

"_He couldn't live without you, but he figured you could have a life without him," Bobby says. "A life outside of hunting."_

_Breaking down as he crouches at Dean's side, Sam stares up at Bobby. He doesn't bother to be strong or mask the pain. His voice nearly childlike, fresh tears falling, he asks, "Why does he get to choose? Why does he get to decide I can live without my brother?"_

Watching Dean get ripped apart, his intestines spilling over the hardwood floor was its own form of torture. Arguing with Bobby and managing to get Dean's body into the car left him even more emotionally raw. But what happened next? That truly took the cake.

Where exactly does one get a coffin at 1 am on a Monday morning in a town that's been inhabited by demons for God knows how long? It's not like you can walk into Home Depot or Lowe's and get plywood. So, if you're Sam Winchester and Bobby Singer, you do the only thing you can do: you steal one.

_It wasn't right that he had to do this. Dean deserved better than a pauper's funeral in the middle of Nowhere, Indiana. But that was what he was getting._

_Sam picks the lock on the door of Johnson & Sons Funeral Home and heads not for the show room, but toward the back where the bodies are prepped. The sickening smell of formaldehyde fills his nostrils and he steals himself for the worst._

_Seeing what he came for, he closes his eyes in relief before looking around for a way to get it out. The pine box is sturdy in appearance. It's long enough that he, himself, could get into it, though so narrow it would barely accommodate the breadth of Dean's shoulders. It wasn't like they had much choice. It would have to do. There was no way he and Bobby could manage anything bigger - nicer - no matter what Dean deserved._

_Half carrying, half dragging the coffin, he makes his way to the door. With Bobby's help, he loads it into the back of an old pick-up in the parking lot and they quickly hot wire the vehicle. He's making his way back to the Impala - back to his brother's body, safely nestled in the backseat of his beloved car - when Bobby calls him back._

"_I reckon this is the best spot," he says, pointing to an open field on the map. _

_Sam nods. "I'll follow you there."_

Hiss body aches from digging the grave, but it's nothing compared to the emptiness in his chest where his heart used to be. He cracks his neck and goes back to the task at hand.

The hole is about 7ft long and 4ft wide. He struggles with how deep to make it. It needs to be deep enough to cover the smells from animals, but not so deep Dean couldn't be reached quickly if necessary.

"Take a break, Sam," Bobby demands. "Let me help you."

"I'll do it, Bobby," Sam fights back. He continues to work the shovel using only the light of the full moon to see. "Nobody said you had to stay. He's my responsibility."

"Hurtin' yourself ain't gonna bring your idjit brother back, son," Bobby says, shifting his cap back as he watches Sam.

A far off look in his eye, the younger man answers, "I'll get him back, Bobby. I don't know how, but I'll get him back."

"Look, Sam," he says shaking his head as he tries to pry the shovel from Sam. "Why don't you come back with me? Take a breather and we'll see what we can figure out?"

Straightening, Sam jerks the tool back. "I can't just sit around," he says. "I need to do something. He's my brother. The only family I had left!"

Unwilling to accept no for an answer, Bobby wrests the shovel from Sam's grip. "Family's more than blood, Sam. You boys are like kin to me. I'll be damned if I let you go doin' something stupid. Get the coffin. Let's get this over with and get the hell outta here."

Sam flinches at the word "hell". There's nothing casual about it anymore. Not now. Not when his beloved brother is trapped in the pit.

Muscles stiff and protesting, adrenaline beginning to leave him, he does as Bobby asks and drags the stolen pine box to the hole. Next, he uses a can of spray paint from the trunk to draw protective symbols on the wood's surface and surrounds the coffin with a ring of salt.

Finally, he goes back to the Impala. Lovingly unwrapping Dean's body, he presses his lips to his brother's forehead before carrying him to the makeshift grave. A silent promise runs through his mind as he lays Dean to rest.

He _will_ find a way. He has to.

There's no other choice.

- - - - - - - - - - Sam - & - Jo - - - - - - - - - -

Seven towns, one state, an abandoned truck and 3/4 of a bottle of hunter's helper later, Sam is pacing the motel room like a caged animal. His grief is palpable. It hangs in the room like a coming storm, making the air heavy.

"Lay down before you fall down," Bobby barks. He hates this. Hates watching one of his boys cope with the loss of the other. Hates that it has to be this way and wishes he could trade places with Dean to end Sam's suffering.

Sam's shoulders slump. He feels his heart thundering in his chest and panics. The thought of closing his eyes brings to mind the graphic carnage of his brother's demise, but he knows the old hunter is right.

He can't drive. Can't do anything. Not like this. Not with alcohol clouding his judgment and the threat of tears welling in his eyes. He drops like a rag doll into the empty chair across from Bobby. "What am I gonna do without him?"

Bobby pours them each another shot. Lifting his glass, he encourages Sam to do the same. "To Dean. One of the best damn hunters I've ever known."

A sad smile crosses Sam's features as he clinks his glass against Bobby's. "To Dean."


	2. Friends in Low Places

**A/N: **Many thanks to **Silverspoon** and **CFEditor**, not only for their reviews but for encouraging me to be myself and bravely follow this story's path. Your support gives me courage when I had none...

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter 2: Friends in Low Places

_Duluth, MN_

_Wednesday May 6, 2008, 11:08 pm_

Jo Harvelle is polishing the last of the glasses when the door of the bar swings open. She stands on tip-toe and slides the margarita glass in her hand onto the rack before turning her attention toward the slight draft. "I'm sorry," she calls out, her fingers instinctively reaching for the flask of holy water she keeps beneath the bar. "We're closed."

He shuffles his feet, his hands buried deep in his pockets. "Hey, Jo..."

Jo spins around, her mouth falling open. She's can't believe the sight before her. Can't believe he sought her out.

Sam Winchester looks like hell. His eyes are bloodshot and hollow. He's a shell of who he used to be and Jo's heart clenches because she knows why.

Word spread quickly about Dean's death and how Sam watched his beloved brother being shredded to ribbons by an invisible beast. About how the younger Winchester was crazy with grief and vowing to get his brother back no matter the cost. How folks were worried Sam wouldn't live that long because he'd grown reckless.

Against her better judgement, she walks around the bar and envelopes him in a warm hug. He's stiff in her arms, surprised by her actions, but wraps his own around her and breathes in the scent of her hair.

She feels a tear hit her scalp and pulls back to look at him, noting a gash above his eyebrow and dried blood smeared on his neck and jaw. Brow furrowing, she turns his head and asks, "What happened to you?"

"He's gone, Jo," he mumbles.

"I heard," she says softly. "You're bleeding, Sam. How'd you hurt your head?"

Sam touches his forehead briefly. He feels nothing. Nothing but the deep slicing pain of Dean's loss. He'd gotten himself into every kind of trouble he could find before coming here. Before coming to the only person he could think of who might understand his need to bring Dean back.

"Demon," he answers, unable to meet her concerned stare. "I was trying to get answers."

Jo sighs and nods to a stool as she pours him a tumbler of whiskey. "Have a seat. I'm almost done here. When I finish, I'll take you upstairs and we'll get you cleaned up."

- - - - - - - - - - Sam - & - Jo - - - - - - - - - -

In her tiny kitchen, Jo guides Sam to a chair and makes him sit down. She gets her first aid kit, noticing for the first time the blue-gray-green of Sam's eyes and her heart breaks at the sadness she sees in them.

Without a word, she cups his cheek and gets to work. Dipping a washcloth into a bowl of soapy water, she traces it over his face, watching the fabric and the contents of the dish turn a dirty pink as she carefully washes him up.

She's gentle and he leans into her touch, closing his eyes in peace for the first time since Dean's death. Her hands are soft and the water is warm. He feels...safe.

Hearing the gentle splash of the cloth and feeling her thumb stroking over his jawline, he looks up at her. Though her expression is one of sympathy, her eyes maintain their familiar spark. He swallows, realizing this is the first time he's ever really looked at her. Noticed how pretty she is. Ever so slightly he turns his head, intent on placing a kiss in her palm, only to have her pull her hand away.

"Give me your keys and I'll get your bag," she says, offering her hand. "Shower's the first door on the left."

"I don't..." he starts to object, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. Unwilling to remind her of the last time they saw each other.

"I'm off tomorrow," she tells him. "I'll help you. We'll start fresh. See what we can figure out."

With a weak smile and a nod, he shifts in the chair to reach into his pocket, his knee brushing against hers. The touch is accidental, casual even, but it ignites something. Something he doesn't understand.

He gets to his feet, their bodies coming almost flush. Taking her small hand in his larger one - marveling at the contrast in their sizes - he drops the keys into it and kisses the crown of her head. "Thanks, Jo," he says quietly. "For everything."

Heading for the door, momentarily surprised by the tenderness of his gesture and the way it fills her with butterflies, she smiles at him. "Help yourself to the linen closet."

Sam grabs a towel from the cupboard and turns the water up to hot. The small bathroom fills with steam as he strips off his boots and clothing before stepping under the spray. Tension melts under the heat but doesn't vanish completely.

He scrubs himself raw, needing to feel the pain he feels on the inside in a physical form. Gliding his hands through his hair, his fingers dig into his scalp as he stretches toward the falling water. It runs in rivers over his chest and down the lines of his abdomen. It slips around his thighs and down his calves.

But it doesn't comfort, soothe or warm him. He still feels hollow. Empty, really. Lost without the only consistent person in his life.

Leaning his hands against the wall and dipping his head to allow the spray to course over his neck, he closes his eyes. Only this time, it's not Dean's face he sees. It's Jo's.

His lips tingle at the memory of brushing over her forehead. Mind races at the thought of the plump curve of her lower lip. About what it would be like to kiss her - _really_ kiss her - and how she might respond. He swallows as a pleasant arousal washes over him and his hand unconsciously closes around his length.

Straightening, he shakes his head, spraying water over the shower walls. He shouldn't be thinking these thoughts. She's Jo. Dean's Jo. The girl his brother wanted but never felt he was worthy of. The one Dean was convinced he could save from a life of hunting.

He wonders, not for the first time, why he came here. And why Jo would take care of him after he'd attacked her...

- - - - - - - - - - Sam - & - Jo - - - - - - - - - -

True to her word Jo carried his bag up, leaving it and the keys on her coffee table before returning to the kitchen. She stands at the counter, humming as she fusses over her meager offering. Hearing the bathroom door open, she walks to the doorway, her eyes popping at what she sees.

Sam's back is to her as he leans over his duffel, shuffling for clothing. Fine, chiseled lines of muscle flex and release as he looks for his desired items. The hunter in him picking up on the slight change in his environment - the nearly inaudible shuffle of her bare feet on the linoleum floor - he turns to look at her, completing the show. His pectorals and abs are stunning. It's like looking into the sun and she has to fight not to blush because she can't bring herself look away.

"I didn't know when you ate last," she says, hooking her thumb over her shoulder. "So I made you a turkey sandwich."

"Thanks," he replies. Mirroring her gesture pointing the opposite direction towards the bathroom, he adds, "I'm just gonna..."

"Yeah," Jo answers with a half smile, trying to keep things light. "Of course."

Minutes later, he's back at the kitchen table, lifting the sandwich from the plate and taking a big bite as his stomach growls. Needing to fill the quiet he says, "I'm sorry about what happened last year." Honesty and sincerity shine in his eyes. "If you don't want me here..."

Tossing the dishtowel she's holding over her shoulder, she shakes her head and moves to stand behind him. "Forget it. I have," she tells him, rubbing his shoulders. "It seems like a lifetime ago and it wasn't your fault."

Sam lets out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding and relaxes slightly. "For what it's worth, he should've called you," he confesses. "I think he really wanted to - especially after the deal - but he was afraid. He didn't want to hurt you."

"I didn't expect him to call, Sam. I'm not stupid," she says, settling into the chair next to him with a chuckle. "Not long after we met, he told me we met in the wrong place at the wrong time," she says wistfully. "Guess neither of us realized how right he was."

Putting the sandwich on the plate, he covers her hand where it rests on the surface of the table. "No, Jo, you aren't," he tells her. "Dean cared about you. More than I've seen him care about any woman. He didn't want this life for you. He wanted to know you were safe."

"Hunting's in my blood, Sam," she answers. "Always has been, always will be." Covering a yawn with her free hand, she smiles sadly. "I'm gonna turn in. You good with the couch?"

Sam nods. "That'll be great. Thanks, Jo."

"We'll get started in the morning," she says, slipping her hand into the one over hers and giving it a squeeze. "G'night, Sam."

"G'night, Jo," he answers. "Sleep well."

- - - - - - - - - - Sam - & - Jo - - - - - - - - - -

Jo awakens to the sound of a soft, muffled cry not long after she drifts to sleep. Quietly leaving her bed and entering the living room, she finds Sam twisting feverishly in a tangle of sheets. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, she touches his shoulder, her eyes briefly landing on the charm around his neck - the one that belonged to someone else - and, as it twinkles in the moonlight, she speaks softly.

"Hey," she says sleepily. "Shh... It's just a nightmare, Sam. You're safe."

In his confusion he lashes out, nearly striking her. Cat-like reflexes and being slightly more awake give her an advantage and she blocks him easily.

"Wake up," she tells him.

When he does, tears fill his eyes. "Jo?" he questions. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

He grabs her, dragging her into his lap and wrapping her in a tight embrace. Rocking with her in his arms, he buries his face in the crook of her neck. "Shh," she soothes, her fingers stroking through his hair and over his bare back. "Shh. It'll be okay."

The change in his breathing is almost instant. Like he had in the kitchen, he relaxes under her caress. For a while, she just holds him - lets him cling to her - as though it's the most natural thing in the world. And, somehow, it _is_.

They fit together like a jigsaw puzzle and she finds she's receiving just as much comfort from his presence as he is from hers. Thinking back, she remembers the last time she felt this way. Remembers the nightmares that haunted her as a child and the comfort of her mother's hands rubbing her back. How the warmth and solid presence of Ellen's body anchored her.

Making a decision, she stands up and takes his hand. "C'mere, Sam. Come lay with me."

"Jo..." he protests.

She tugs his hand, pulling him up and leading him down the hall. He follows her, standing quietly by as she turns down the sheets. The room is plain and relatively impersonal, yet there's something restful about it.

Jo slips under the covers, patting the empty side of the bed and he doesn't resist. He simply allows her to tuck him in. Lets her curl against his back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as she rubs soft circles over his naked skin.

Maybe it's her scent or that he's not alone. He doesn't know. All he knows is this somehow makes things different - better even - and he's finally able to relax, sleep finding him swiftly.


	3. Falling Apart

**A/N****:** In the two years I've been writing fan-fiction, I have developed a bit of a reputation for writing a different kind of love scene. Among other things, I've been praised for celebrating the physical bond between a couple without cheapening it using course language. It's something I take pride in and I don't plan on changing.

With that said, there comes a point when you have to spread your wings and try something a little more daring. For me, that time came in how I decided to write this story. It is and will be very different from my regular postings. I will be using words you don't usually see in my stories and this chapter is only the tipping point. I have a specific reason for doing it, one I hope will play out over the course of this story in the form of a subtle shift. Bear with me and give it a shot?

I value all kinds of feedback and support I receive from my readers and acknowledge this story may make some folks uncomfortable. Please feel free to PM me if you want my rationale.

**Warning: **If you are bothered by graphic adult content, turn back now.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural._

Chapter 3: Falling Apart

_Duluth, MN_

_Thursday May 7, 2008, 3:37 am_

Lightning flickers through the bedroom window, illuminating the man standing in front of it as rain pounds against the glass pane. Coming awake, Jo's hazy mind is confused and she reaches for her knife before remembering Sam is with her in the tiny apartment. She climbs from bed and moves to stand behind him, her hands drifting over the now clammy skin of his back.

Sam startles at Jo's touch, flinching as though he's been struck. His posture is defensive. He stands rigidly with his jaw clenched, an immovable mountain.

"Relax," she says quietly. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she presses her lips to his shoulder. "It's okay, Sam..."

His hand skims over Jo's arms and he swallows as tears sting the backs of his eyelids. "I should leave," he tells her. "I'm sorry, Jo, I..."

Letting go, she moves to face him. "Don't," she says softly, looking up at him with big, brown eyes. "I want you to stay."

"Why?" he asks sharply, trying to push her away. "Dean's the one that should be here with you now. Not me. He should've left me dead!"

"Don't say that, Sam. Not ever," she says sternly, her hands clenching his upper arms. Resisting the urge to smack him, she settles for shaking sense into him. "He loved you - so much he was willing to die in your place. You know what I would give for that? To have a brother or sister I could count on?"

"Trust me, Jo," he bites, "You're better off. I ruin everything."

Jo draws a deep breath, her fingers running over the tattoo on his chest. It's funny how one little change - the addition of a little ink - made such a difference. He's the same, but safer. "You'd have done the same thing for him, Sam. That you're here now means I didn't lose you both."

Her words are steady and heartfelt. She's calm even as his control slips. He has to be convinced somehow that he is worth saving and, stubborn just like her mama, she decides to take on the monstrous task. "And you haven't ruined anything."

"Give it time," he says bitterly, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling.

Biting her lip, she allows her hands to skate up his chest. "You kept the demon possessing you from raping me, Sam," she reminds him cautiously. "I _know_ you stopped it. I'd be dead if _you_ hadn't fought for me."

He looks down at her. Sees a glimmer of what he's sure Dean saw. Reaching out, his fingers moving with a mind of their own, he touches the spun gold of her hair and revels in the softness of the strands as they slip through his fingers.

She's delicate but strong. Small but fierce. And she's most definitely _not_ a little sister.

Finding himself becoming aroused for a second time, Sam caresses Jo's cheek. His other hand curling into her hip, he pulls her forward and she takes a stumbling step closer. He licks his lips, his mouth falling to hers.

Jo sighs sweetly, her lips parting to allow the sweeping invasion of his tongue as she wraps her arms around his neck. She arches against him and stands on her toes, her fingers tangling in his hair as she lets herself to be devoured.

Her body - the sheer touch of her skin on his - warms him. She smells like strawberries and tastes like peppermint toothpaste. Unable to get enough, he snakes his arm up the line of her spine and strokes her neck as he presses her against his chest. He sucks on her lower lip, continuing to kiss her for all he's worth.

Heart pounding and head spinning from lack of oxygen, she stares up at him with wide eyes and asks breathlessly, "What are we doing, Sam?"

He brushes his lips over the corner of her mouth before they drift to her temple. "I don't know," he murmurs, afraid to break the spell. Afraid to lose her heat and be plunged back into the freezing cold. He kisses his way across her forehead, his mouth and tongue feathering and flicking deliciously in a way that makes her shiver. "You want me to stop?"

Jo gulps and shakes her head. Unexpected lust pounds in her veins, overtaking the grief she feels at their mutual loss. Leaning up, she gives him a drugging kiss, a moan vibrating through his chest and into her mouth.

Sam guides her to the edge of the bed without removing his lips from hers. His fingers skim under the edge of her tank top and he crinkles it up to trail his fingers over the quivering flesh of her abdomen and lower back. She's silky smooth. Her slight tremble turns him on that much more and, for a while, he lets himself to forget everything but the feel of her delicate curves.

Lifting Jo, he encourages her legs around his waist. The fabric covered evidence of his desire teases against her core and she whimpers as he lays her across the mattress. Hovering over her, he pushes her shirt up as he kisses her again.

For the first time since Dean's death, he feels something. Everything. Alive.

Reaching down, Jo pulls the tank over her head. Looking up at Sam, she asks, "Is this... Are you...?"

He places her hands on his chest. "Touch me," he invites, bending down to capture her lips in a burning kiss. He shifts his weight against her, his aching cock grinding into the cradle of her hips. Groaning, he mumbles, "I need you, Jo. Help me forget..."

Raking her nails over his pecks and down his abs, she submits. She wants him. So much she can hardly breathe.

He's not the brother she thought she'd be with. The hands that touch her - the ones cupping and exploring her breasts - aren't the rough, calloused ones she's been imagining for years. The mouth that brushes fiery kisses over her skin - the one that nibbles and sucks at her nipples, first one and then the other - isn't the one she caught herself staring at as she cleared the Roadhouse's tables.

This isn't a fantasy. He's real. Hot, corded muscles tighten perfectly beneath her hands. And, from the pressure against her thigh, he's got more than enough to satisfy. Finding his mouth again, she pushes the worn gray cotton of his sweatpants down his hips. Her efforts are rewarded when Sam's eyes slam shut and he surges into her hand.

His length is impressive. Heavy and granite-hard, it pulses against her fingertips. She strokes him, her grip tightening when his hand slips between them and into her sleep shorts. She feels a blush creep up her neck knowing she's wet after a mere handful of kisses.

Sam's breath hitches at the way Jo touches him. He moans when he finds her ready, her soaked core greedily sucking his fingers into her body. Barely controlled restraint on the verge of snapping, he nips at her lower lip and growls, "Protection?"

Breath escaping in a hiss, she arches into his touch. She gasps as his thumb strokes over her pebble-hard clit, her body squeezing around his intrusive digits. Moaning, she manages, "Nightstand drawer."

He curls his fingers expertly, eyes fixed on Jo's face as pleasure washes over her. He likes the way she looks, flushed with her golden hair fanned beneath her head like a halo. The way she _feels_ and makes him feel. Salvation. Hope. Passion. Lust. He's consumed by it all.

Kissing her soundly, he instructs, "Don't move."

Hurriedly undressing himself and making quick work of the latex sheath, he returns to her. His hands trail up her thighs to tug down the remaining article separating them.

She's tiny. Laying there, naked and vulnerable with her legs spread invitingly, she makes him feel big and powerful. Lifting her hips, he settles himself between her thighs. He kisses her throat, his hands steadying her as he thrusts forward. She moans as he fills her, stretching her body to its limits and forcing her to feel every, single inch of him.

Jo looks up at Sam through fluttering lashes. She gives him everything, echoing his movements and sharing his rhythm. Her fingers dig into his shoulders as she hangs onto him. She swallows, biting her lip as she forces her eyes to find the shimmering ocean depths of his as a toe-curling orgasm threatens to overtake her quaking body.

"Mmm," she moans, grabbing the charm of the necklace hanging around his throat and dragging his mouth back to hers. "More... Please... Close, so close..."

Looking down at her, watching the darkening of her eyes sure his brother's name is about to spill from her lips, the damn breaks. He sees Dean's lifeless gaze. Sees the pain of betrayal. The jacket he destroyed in anger as a little kid - the one that started Dean wearing their father's old, leather car coat. The time he interrupted Dean's make-out session with Lesley Franklin with a tummy ache when he was nine. The hurt in Dean's eyes when he left for Stanford.

Then there's the way his brother gazed at the woman beneath him. Jo. _Dean's _Jo. The one thing of his brother's he should never have touched.

As though that's not bad enough, it gets worse. He sees Jessica, pinned to the ceiling of their apartment. Sees the flames overtaking her body. Hears her screams pierce the air.

He sees Madison. Watches her fall limply to the floor as the silver bullet pierces her heart. Smells the coppery hint of her blood - the blood that seemed to stick to his hands for days after her death.

Jo's fingers twist in his hair, trying to bring his mouth back to hers. "Sam..." she murmurs his name, body tightening around his. But it's too late. The evidence of his arousal is rapidly beginning to fade. His erection shrivels. This is one more thing he can't control. One more thing that brings pain.

Breath ragged, he pulls out. He sits on the edge of the bed, dragging his hands through his hair as his jaw tightens. Tears sting his eyes.

"Sam?" Jo asks, confusion washing over her as she pulls the sheet around her body. She kisses his shoulder, her arm slipping around him. "What's wrong? What hap...?"

He pushes her away, physically and emotionally. Testing his feet, he picks up her alarm clock and hurls it against the wall with a primal grunt.

He's angry. Angry at Dean for dying. Angry at himself for giving into lust rather than protecting Jo. Rather than caring for her the way Dean cared for her - by staying the hell away.

Jo scrambles from bed. She tries to reach for him - to comfort him - only to be thrust aside, broken like the clock on the floor. Nothing to be done but watch, she sinks to the mattress and curls into herself as he gathers his things. He's only half dressed when he stalks out her front door, the sound of it slamming behind him punctuating the air like the crack of her favorite rifle and making her flinch like she had the first time she fired it.

Moving to lock the door, she spies his t-shirt on the floor and retrieves it before heading back to her room. Pulling it over her head, she tugs her hair out of the neck and lets herself be enveloped by Sam's scent. It isn't gunpowder, leather and motor oil - smells she associates with Dean - she craves. It's the crisp scent of soap mingled with the tang of something uniquely...Sam. Something not as familiar, but something she knows she won't forget any sooner than she will his touch.

Jo collapses, tears falling like a hurricane, the force of them blinding her. She physically aches. It's more than just the loss of an orgasm. It's the pain of being left behind. Abandoned by not one but both Winchester brothers. Left to feel the sting of Sam's rejection as surely as she does Dean's death. Abandoned - without explanation - in a quickly cooling bed by a man she wonders if she should have allowed herself to be with in the first place.

A man who maybe - just maybe - left with a piece of her heart.

- - - - - - - - - - Sam - & - Jo - - - - - - - - - -

Sam slams the door of the Impala, throwing his stuff on the seat beside him. He scrubs his hands over his face, trying to dispel the hurt and anger raging through him. Hurt over his brother's death. Hurt for the woman he and his brother both care about, the one he'd walked out on like a coward. Anger at himself for losing control in the one area he's sure his brother never would have. Anger at his body for betraying him - especially with her, especially with Jo.

He tugs a hoodie on, covering his bare chest when he realizes he left his t-shirt behind. He can't go back. Can't face her - not now, maybe not ever. So he runs away, from Jo and the damage he's caused in the space of less than six hours.

The car fishtails as it slides out of the parking lot. He's a man with an even greater mission now than before. It's not just about him. It's not about bringing Dean back solely for himself - solely to have his brother back. Not anymore.

It's about Jo. It's about doing whatever it takes to make this night up to her.

Including returning her to the man he's sure she loves.


End file.
